


Heart of Ice

by Bloodspit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: College Hockey, F/F, F/M, Hockey AU, I put violence warning because it's hockey and things may get ugly, M/M, angsty maybe?, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodspit/pseuds/Bloodspit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a friendly, popular player on the hockey team at his college and Jean is an overly protective enforcer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReiMori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReiMori/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't play hockey! I have no idea what a practice would be like, or what being on a hockey team would feel like or any of that, so if someone else wants to write this better or offer some tips or insight, absolutely please do! Although I've been a fan of hockey for about 7 years now, I would not say I'm a great authority on the sport. Sorry! 
> 
> Ok, so I know I'm already in the middle of another fic that I haven't really updated at all and I really SHOULD from what people tell me, buttttt hockey season is coming up and I'm super excited, and I just finished reading a cute fic-in-progress by ReiMori titled "Do you Like or Like-Like Me" which has French-Canadian hockey-fan Jean in it...and I just...needed hockey au in my life lol. I'm sorry! Also, I did take two semesters of French in college but I really don't know enough conversational French to insert any, so if Jean speaks French at all, it will be in allusions I make to him speaking it and not likely any actual French phrases...
> 
> Enjoy for now!

It was the start of another collegiate hockey season, and for returning seniors, it was especially nerve wracking. If they hadn't impressed scouters by this point, they really had to turn it out or else this would be the end of competitive hockey for them. I guess there were always community leagues, but that seemed so bleak and depressing in comparison with the flash and adrenaline of college hockey and, what amounted to the ultimate goal for most players, a coveted spot in the NHL (or at least in one of the pro leagues.)

The senior hockey players at Trost Uni (NY, USA) were a mish-mash of left overs, weak links, and jacks-of-all-trades-masters-of-none. A versatile player was undoubtedly invaluable, but versatility implied that they were highly skilled at two or three aspects of the game, not average at everything. These solid but subtle players were usually good to fill-in for injured people or support already strong lines, and might even have plenty of assists. However, they didn't stand out much on their own, and thus tended to go unnoticed. 

Thankfully for the waning team, who had seen many an excellent player poached by recruiters for professional teams, or worse, other universities, there seemed to be a considerable influx of freshmen wanting to join the hockey team this year.

Tryouts were held on a chilly August morning, just as the sun was peeking up over the nearby mountains. Morning practices would become a regular routine for players who made the cut, and Head Coach Erwin didn't believe in sugar coating the facts. Neither did his assistant Coach Levi, for that matter, who was rumored to be the reason why the locker room was kept in eerily pristine condition. Therefore, they both agreed that tryouts should be as similar to a morning practice as possible so that no one would come out of it with false expectations about what being part of the team would entail. 

The early hours and cold weather were causing Jean to feel a bit sluggish as he dragged his heavy feet across the parking lot to the Trost Uni rink, but he knew the minute he laced himself up and got out on the ice, he'd have more energy than he could ever hope to contain. Nothing got his adrenaline pumping more than competing with others, and for Jean, hockey was the ultimate sport. Of course, having grown up in Quebec, he may have a bit of a bias. He had constantly been exposed to the sport ever since he was a baby, but it wasn't until his uncle took him to his first game when he was 5 that it became his dream to play hockey professionally when he grew up. The cheering crowds and lively atmosphere at the game made his skin prickle with excitement in a way that watching a game on TV or listening on the radio had never elicited before. The desire was rooted in him down to his very core, and 13 years later it burned just as fiercely within him. He wanted the glory; he wanted to feel the rush of victory. He wanted the fucking cup, to be honest. But he took things one step at a time, and the next step was finally here.

Jean had entered college backed by a solid school hockey record, and a passion to show what he had to offer. He didn't have many goal points to show for his years of playing, but he had a huge number of assist points, and as an enforcer, was always vehemently dedicated to having his teammates' backs. He excelled at unifying teams, and lent confidence to otherwise passive players by playing off of their strengths. He was always able to light a fire beneath his teammates when morale started to falter, and his work ethic would often rub off on them. Although he could be stubborn when it came to people who didn't act as team players (for example, prick forwards who selfishly try to take the puck all the way when they've got open teammates, a solid fucking wall of defense between them and the goalie, and then end up turning over the puck) he doesn't gossip or talk behind their back; he's upfront about things that bother him, especially if he thinks it's something that's bringing the team down. Even if he thinks it might result in a fist fight, he will go out of his way to clear the air of any tension between him and another player. Jean believed that you could hate someone openly and still work well with them on ice as long as you didn't stab them in the back or talk shit surreptitiously. 

All in all, his love for hockey and his behavior on and off the ice have earned him praise from both teammates and coaches in his past, but have also made him some bitter enemies. Regardless of what anyone might think, he planned on pledging just as much of himself to this team as he had in the past. He's always been the type of person to act on instinct, and fortunately it has served him well thus far.

He trudged through the open doors and into the stadium, following signs posted around and other hopefuls who shuffled along in similar fashion towards the locker room. The room only had a few people in it so far. It was already filling up with the sounds of them pulling out their gear and the strange swishing noises of windbreakers being jostled about, yet it was tensely quiet at the same time due to the lack of conversation. Jean didn't spot anyone he knew yet, but looked around at the large locker room, his nerves simultaneously driving him nuts and invigorating him. There was a cubby area ( _how childish_ , Jean momentarily thought), each one labelled with a person's first initial and last name all of whom had signed up for tryouts. It looked like there were about 30 or so people wanting to join this year, probably all of them freshman. Only about 10 people would make the cut. Jean spotted his cubby, J. Kirstein, wedged between two empty cubbies belonging to C. Springer and M. Bodt. _So Connie decided to try out afterall!_ Jean chuckled to himself. Connie was a spaz and a complete goofball off ice, but when his shift came up, he adopted a serious manner, never hesitating to throw his body between the puck and the net. Poor, poor Connie... it was always the quickest way he could think of to stop a shot on net. Half of his teeth weren't real and he hadn't even played professionally yet! But Jean was relieved to see at least one familiar name. The guy was a bit on the short side for hockey, meaning he didn't have the speed and the size to outrun or bully other people on ice, but he was a defense man Jean would always welcome as a teammate due to their kindred dedication to the sport and their colleagues.

Jean didn't spend any time looking at other names, opting to take a seat on a nearby bench instead to pull his skates out from his duffel. He closed one eye and inspected the blades, ensuring they were as straight and sharp as when he had nervously kept checking them last night, then laced himself up into them. He checked his stick that he had re-wrapped that morning for good measure, and after feeling satisfied with the state of his equipment and not wanting to wait any longer, he stuffed his duffel into his cubby and made his way to the ice.

The first breath of cold, refrigerated air was exhilarating. Jean stepped out onto the glassy surface and felt his body finally wake up. He exhaled slowly, unable to resist the smile that was spreading across his face, and looked around at the empty stands and the inviting rink. There were only two other people practicing with him this early - a burly, rough looking blonde fellow who was relaxed and skating around while chatting with a rather nervous looking tall, dark skinned guy. The taller man stumbled a bit as he skated close to the wall, where the ice was less traveled and especially slippery after a fresh topcoat from the Zamboni. The blonde skated up to him, expertly stopping on a dime, and slapped him on the back in what he probably thought was a comforting manner, but from the looks of the taller boy's face, would probably be leaving a bruise. Mr. tall and dark, who was all limbs and kind of lean for a hockey player, smiled over at his friend weakly, already sweating from either exertion or nerves...or both. On the bench, Jean spotted Coach Erwin and Coach Levi talking quite seriously with each other while inspecting and gesturing to whatever was on the clipboard Erwin had in his hand. Erwin laughed a little bit at something Levi said, but Jean had never seen a face with so few laugh lines as Levi's. The man looked like he hardly slept and never smiled. Just then, with spooky cat-like intuition, Levi looked away from the clipboard as Erwin was still talking and pointing at it, and made direct eye contact with Jean. Even from across the ice, Jean could swear he saw his eyes narrow and his mouth turn down slightly at the corners before waving a hand dismissively at what Erwin had just said and viciously jabbing at something on the clipboard in Erwin's hand, causing him to almost drop it. _Shit! Remind me to never get on his bad side,_ he noted to himself as he practiced a few shots with some of the pucks littered about near the goalposts.

More players migrated onto the ice from the locker room, Jean recognizing a few from high school and skating over to greet them and wish them good luck. Connie announced his arrival with a loud, irreverent burp that echoed in the empty building, every single person turning their head to look at the unapologetic culprit. "Yo!" the buzz-cut wearing mixed kid said to all of the eyes on him as he raised his arms over his head excitedly, a few people waving and laughing or replying back to him, and others rolling their eyes or choosing to ignore him altogether. Jean cracked a smile, depositing his stick on the bench with the others and gliding over to where Connie was stretching. Connie extended his fist for a bump and they slipped back into comfortable conversation despite having not seen each other for months - not since their drunken grad party escapades.

"Dude, that was INSANE!" Connie gushed between snickers. " And, seriously, you are totes my hero for singing the entirety of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody in front of like 100 people. You couldn't hit those high notes but damn you actually remembered all the words even though you were soooo fucking shit-faced, that's amazing!" 

"Haha! Thanks, man. You should check out my album on itunes," Jean replied in a quieter voice, pointing double-gun hands at Connie and winking with a facetiously debonair smile. He's not usually so lighthearted (until you get him drunk), but nothing could piss him off today - NOTHING! He was high on life, sailing on tides of pure fucking adrenaline and giddiness. 

They were still grinning and catching up while stretching, when Jean glanced over at a group of people who had just entered the rink, and spotted Eren Jaeger. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Jean's stomach churned as seeing Jaeger's face brought back all the sour memories of his junior year of high school, and the bad blood that had been left between them after the season had ended with their team losing at finals. Jean had played with Eren for three years and each year, he had seen Jaeger play more selfishly, more loosely and more recklessly than years prior. As much as Jean relied heavily on instinct, Eren didn't seem to have anything but instinct. He acted on his every whim, even if it was too risky. If you had asked Jean three years earlier, he might have admitted that Eren was a pretty talented player. And even though it's probably still true, it was more Eren's attitude and lack of teamwork that got under Jean's skin. A wild card with a streak of talent sure, but a dick nonetheless with no consideration and no responsibility. Good thing Eren transferred to another city for senior year, one that was in a different district that didn't play against his high school. If Jean ever got the chance to play against Eren, he's not sure he would be able to contain his temper, so it's probably for the best. Still, the thought of being on the same team as Eren again made his insides coil with agitation.

Connie took notice of Jean's suddenly bitter expression and quiet seriousness, looking over his shoulder to find the cause.  


"Oh, shit," he mumbled, turning back to Jean. "Well, this should be interesting," he hissed through his teeth, more to himself than Jean.  


There was no time for either of them to dwell on it, or wonder if Eren even knew they were there, because soon enough the coaches were calling for everyone to leave their sticks on the bench and line up at center ice. Jean looked forward and to his left a bit, where Coach Levi slowly slid to a halt and began calling names off the list on the clipboard. Connie stood to his left, closer to Levi than Jean, nervously kicking his skates out in front of him. Meanwhile, Erwin began setting up cones for their first exercise.

"Braun," Levi droned out impatiently, looking up expectantly with an air of condescension. 

"Here!" the bulky blonde's deep voice resounded in the near silence of the empty stadium, accompanied solely by the sound of Erwin skating about behind them.

"Springer," Levi continued.

"SIR YES SIR!" Connie barked out mechanically next to Jean, throwing a salute and everything, his lips quivering with the effort of holding back laughter. Levi said nothing, and just stared at him for a few moments in complete silence, Connie's shoulders beginning to tremble from restraint. _Son, you done fucked up,_ Jean tried to psychically communicate to Connie to no avail.

Finally Connie's laughter burst forth from between his tight lips and he was cracking up. A few others were similarly unable to contain their mirth and chuckled a bit under their breath.

"Thank you..." Levi's eyes narrowed again as he glanced down at his clipboard for a split second before returning his gaze to the shaking, giggling mess of a man before him, "Conrad, for volunteering to clean the locker rooms for the next two weeks."

"What!? Aw, man...." he whined, before falling silent with remorse. Connie's antics were great for relieving tension before a match, but there would evidently be no room for them in Levi's practices. Subconsciously, the rest of the newbies straightened up a bit, keeping their faces forward and their eyes focused on the newly recognized authority figure before them.

Levi just exhaled quickly, and returned to the matters at hand. "Bodt." _Bodt..._ Jean mulled that name over. _The cubby next to mine...I feel like I've also heard some positive media buzz about him before, but he's from two towns over so I definitely don't know him well._

"Here!" a cheerful yet mature sounding voice responded directly to Jeans's right, startling him out of his thoughts momentarily. Jean flicked his eyes towards the source of sound so close to his ears. The voice belonged to a young man absolutely decked out in freckles. He was slightly taller than Jean, with neatly parted dark hair and a dorky grin on his face. _Well at least he's excited to be here,_ Jean thought, feeling a bit better about the recruits.

"Jaeger." Aaand there goes that good feeling.

"PRESENT!" Eren nearly shouted, his hair practically standing up on end. _Present!_ Jean mocked Eren inwardly, curling his lip and rolling his eyes slightly.

"Kirstein," Levi brought his attention back to the roll-call.

"Here," Jean replied calmly, not betraying his frayed nerves at having the short-tempered (not to mention just plain short) Coach's attention. Levi's gaze lingered on him, his expressionless face denying Jean any clue as to what he was thinking. Perhaps nothing, seeing as how he simply continued with the roll-call, finishing up with a few others that Jean recognized, and identifying the bulky blonde's nervous friend as "Hoover."

The tryout was, to say the least, exhausting. It started off with basic displays of puck handling, passing, shooting, screening, blocking, and from there we moved on to sprints, checks, and randomly selected sudden death scrimmages. They were about 3 hours in and 11 people had quit and left already, which disheartened some of the players, but also left more room for others to stand out. Jean hated to admit it, but Eren had significantly improved over the last year and a half, and actually worked as well as anyone else did with their randomly selected teams. He was still a loud and wild player, though.  
Connie had thankfully ditched his humorous approach and completely devoted his efforts to redeeming himself in Levi's eyes. He looked good out there, and only fell short in areas where physical size gave advantages, such as skating speed and checks. He still did really well with blocks, poke checks, and surprisingly, battling along the board for puck possession, something that could easily get dragged out beyond its entertainment value. 

Another person who kept catching Jean's eye was that Bodt fellow. That dorky smile barely ever left his face, except in moments of extreme concentration. He was an AWESOME team player, never hogging goals for himself if someone had a better chance at making the shot in. Nonetheless, he always knew when to just shoot for the net instead of passing. He was great at communicating non-verbally, and was quick to pick up the playing habits and body language of his improvised teammates. In one of the scrimmages, Jean actually got to play alongside Marco on the same line. Jean doesn't like to take unwarranted or unecessary risks, but will always take a shot available to him, and never fails to enjoy the hell out of them when he scores. Bodt made this fucking beautiful pass to him, and after feinting a slap-shot, Jean made a split second decision to wrist it in the opposite corner of the goalpost, taking the well-guarded goalie by surprise and netting a goal. His teammates cheered briefly, the excitement of a practice goal not as lasting as that of an in-game goal. But right after Jean made the goal, he turned around with a small arm pump, and latched on momentarily to the teammate closest to him in a brief adrenaline-fuled hug. After letting the young man go, Jean realized it was Bodt, the cheerful freckled young man who was beginning to really impress Jean. Their eyes locked for a moment, and neither said anything, both of them still smiling profusely.

"Nice pass, man" Jean breathed happily as Erwin blew a whistle, signalling the end of the scrimmage and switching the teams out. 

"Thanks, nice goal," he shot back, his voice friendly and self-assured. He took a seat next to Jean as they returned to the bench. "I'm Marco," he stated simply, removing his glove and offering his hand to Jean for a shake. Sure it was more formal than he was used to, but Jean was okay with that, and returned both the handshake and the introduction. "Jean," he replied, his post-goal jitters settling into a gentle buzz. "You've got some amazing moves," Marco continued, his eyes following the newly started scrimmage. 

"I could say the same about you," Jean bantered back in uncharacteristic repartee. He felt an odd fluttering in his abdomen when Marco looked over at him and scrunched his eyes up in the most genuine smile Jean had ever seen. It was a strange ache, but not a painful one. Jean cleared his throat, turning his attention to the scrimmage and ignoring this new and confusing sensation.

Finally, 4 hours after they had began, the tryouts were brought to an end, many people letting out groans of tiredness and relief, and Connie laid down right where he stood on the ice and released all of the air in his lungs with a loud "PHEW!"

Jean skated over to him, kicking him gently and whacking him with his hockey stick, prompting groans of fake pain from his bald-headed friend. It didn't last - Connie could not keep a straight face for long - and he bust up laughing, still lying on the cold surface now marred with skate lines and grooves. Jean snorted, rolling his eyes. "Okay bye!" he said, similar to the false threats a parent might make to a misbehaving toddler. "AlrIGHT ALRIGHT I'm coming!" Connie grunted and he got back on his skates and chased after Jean. 

In the locker room, Connie bombarded Jean with recaps of the amazing things he'd shown off during tryouts, Jean growing more impatient each time he had to reiterate that, "Yeah I know, I was there." Marco took a seat next to them, Jean looking over at him casually but not saying anything as he laced up his dirty red converse sneakers. Marco dug around in his own duffel and removed a pair of electric blue high tops, and Jean raised his eyebrows in approval but didn't say anything.

Connie peeked over from across Jean to see what had him captivated, and noticing that Marco sported the same shoes as Jean (different color though!), a mischievous expression spread across his face as he did his best girly impression and whined out, "Oh my goood, twinsies!" and fluttered his eye lashes a bit. Marco chuckled softly and his cheeks reddened a bit, highlighting the specks artfully scattered across his face, but Jean turned to Connie, having had enough of his jokes for the day, and retorted, "C'mon Con, everyone's got a pair of converse in their closet somewhere. It's pretty common."

"PSHHH if you say so," Connie mouthed off, but allowed Jean to shut him down. They said their farewells with Connie pestering Jean to text him to hang out some time, and Jean finally acquiescing just to get him to leave. Connie was great and all, but there were only so many hours in a day Jean could stand to be exposed to him, especially consecutive hours as they were, and so stressful and tiring ones at that. Jean let out a long sigh after Connie had finally departed, and pulled out his phone to check movie listings.

"Anything good playing?" Marco asked quietly, not having to raise his voice so much now that most people had found their way out of the locker room. Jean jumped a bit at his question, surprised because he wasn't expecting it, but also because Marco was standing behind him and leaning in pretty close over his shoulder, and Jean could feel the heat rising off of his neck, and could smell the detergent on the fresh shirt he'd just donned, and the deodorant beneath that, and just barely, the faint scent of sweat. "Uhhh-" he blurted out, waiting for his brain to catch up and feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. _What the hell?!_

Marco leaned away from where he'd been looking over Jean's shoulder, his smile faltering and his eyes going a bit wide. "Oh sorry! I didn't mean to peek at your phone. Ahh, that was rude of me," he rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze shifting shyly down and away from Jean.

"N-no!" Jean waved his hands in front of his face, pardoning Marco completely. "I was just surprised is all - I don't really care. Not that I've got anything to hide anyway," he assured Marco. "And no, there is absolutely jack shit playing right now. Really fucking disappointing, I could go for a good movie right now." He grinned, and Marco finally relaxed his freckled face back into its usual happy self. 

"Well..." he said, looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin pensively. "I've got a lot of DVD's at my place. Are there any old movies you've never seen but always wanted to?" He asked Jean, cocking his head to the side a bit in curiosity. 

"To be honest..." Jean debated whether he wanted to admit something like this after having just met Marco, but it was only for split second and then he was over his hesitation. "I've never seen Star Wars, and-"

"WHAT ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?" Marco interrupted, pure shock evident on his face.

"AND!!" Jean continued, feigning annoyance but his poorly disguised smile gave him away. "I always get shit for it when people find out, so I'm thinking I'm going to have to fix that pretty soon."

"Yes, I agree!" Marco laughed at that - a full-bodied, gut-grabbing, knee slapping, youthful laugh that brought out dimples Jean hadn't noticed before, not at all reminiscent of the boisterous and annoying cackling that Connie would often release. It was just the two of them left in the locker room, everyone else having gone home as soon as possible to recover from the trials. Jean felt his gut roiling and tumbling again as he watched Marco wipe laughter tears from his eyes, and figured he was just hungry from so much physical exertion. 

"Welp! I'm gonna peace out, I'll see you in two days!" he said to Marco as he stood and headed for the exit. Two days, and they would find out who'd made the cut, who was to be an alternate, and who need not return for practice. Jean wasn't terribly worried that he wouldn't make it, but the nerves don't always listen to the brain.

"Oh! Okay, see you then." Marco replied, and followed Jean out the door. Jean felt awkward having Marco walk two feet behind him after they'd already said goodbye, so he made a quick detour into the bathroom, even though he didn't need to use it. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he closed the bathroom door behind him and exhaled a shaky sigh.

_What the hell is wrong with me??_

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm in the process of moving back to California and training my replacement at my job, and don't have a lot of free time where I'm not packing stuff up or booking flights, etc. So sorry I've been neglecting The Chemistry Between Us. I haven't lost interest! Just time/motivation for now. But this whole fic so far came to me this morning on the bus and I wrote it on the bus, on my lunch break, and after work. More to come :)


End file.
